He resumed consuming all the food on his plate to the very last crumb.
“Everyone within a hundred miles has heard of Radish,” she returned.
Mid-chew, Bran went still as a statue.
Radish.
Why was Sir Abstrupus bringing up Radish?
And it occurred to him—somehow, this night was tied to the colt.
“He will make quite a name for himself when he runs the St. Leger at Doncaster,” said their host.
Lady Artemis gave a shrug, as if to convey indifference, and took a large bite of sweetbreads—which she obviously loathed. She took her time chewing, even with two sets of eyes upon her, making it evident she wouldn’t be drawn into a conversation that involved horse racing.
Interesting, that.
The Lady Artemis he’d once known had been nearly as obsessed with racing as her brother.
Sir Abstrupus remained determined. “Your Endcliffe Grange has the best horse training course in the north.”
Ah.Here it was—the reason for the supper party.
“Indeed,” she said, agreeably, even amiably. That was all she would give him.
Sir Abstrupus would have to ask outright.
So she could refuse him outright.
The light that twinkled in Sir Abstrupus’s eyes said he knew it.
As an outsider, it was easy for Bran to see this was a little game Sir Abstrupus and Lady Artemis were accustomed to playing.
Their host cleared his throat. “Would your ladyship be so kind as to consent to?—”
“No.”
She hadn’t precisely shouted—but it was a near thing.
Bran’s head cocked. He knew himself to be altered from the man he was ten years ago. But this Lady Artemis was both the same as she’d once beenandaltered, too.
Sir Abstrupus settled back in his chair and let a footman replace the second course with the third—white soup. “I thought you would say as much.”
“Then why ask the question?” she asked, too sweetly.
The sharp glint of business entered Sir Abstrupus’s eye. “How about a friendly competition for the right to use your training course?”
And there it was—the question voiced, so it could be refused.
Yet she canted her head and asked, “What would I be competing for?”
Bran’s brow lifted. She hadn’t refused him outright—yet.
She continued. “It strikes me that I win by not entering the contest at all.”
She had Sir Abstrupus there.
Bran almost felt disappointed over how easily the victory had been attained.
